Rainbows, Pride, & Our True Colors

American #MarriageEquality just took a huge step forward! #LoveWon by 5-4 when the United States Supreme Court ruled that states could no longer ban same-sex marriage or refuse marriage rights to same-sex unions. As far as #MarriageEquality is concerned, state governments can no longer deny same-sex couples the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in the realm of relationships.

Since then, Facebook has released the “Celebrate Pride” app, a tool that imposes a rainbow filter onto your profile picture, and transformed social media into a digital Pride extravaganza. My entire feed is drenched in rainbows and I would never have it any other way. A lot of these rainbow-faces belong to people who identify as heterosexual, cisgendered, and/or not queer.

Mr. Robot: "Fuck Society"

"Maybe it's that we voted for [all of] this—not with our rigged elections, but with our things, our property, our money. We want to be sedated, because it's painful not to pretend. Fuck society."

“Fuck society” may well become the mantra of the decade – that is, if Mr. Robot continues its heady slash and burn assault. If you think a television series can’t be successful when the premise is based on hatred of corporate greed and the fact that technology both infringes on and controls our lives, think again. Mr. Robot has adroitly tapped into the encroaching zeitgeist of discontent and revolt.

Unconscious Bias in The Secret Life of Bees

The Secret Life of Bees is a favorite among book clubs and English classes for its themes of motherhood, spirituality, and racial tension during the Civil Rights Era. But the book also addresses problems we still see today: hidden biases.

Though Lily, the fourteen year-old white protagonist, has grown up with her black mother-figure Rosaleen and is considerably kinder to her than her father T. Ray, she still falls victim to the thinking of her time. When she meets August, one of the three beekeeper sisters that Lily and Rosaleen find in Tiburon, SC, she is shocked to discover that August is in fact, very intelligent and well-read.

UO's Anti-Semitism And General Awfulness

At this point, the name "Urban Outfitters" is nearly synonymous with "controversy." The "hip" retailer's racist "Ghettopology" made headlines over a decade ago . . . and since then, it hasn't seemed to make any real effort to clean up its image. Between the bloody-printed Kent State top, offensive "Navajo Hipster Panty," and—like you could forget—the "Eat Less" top, it would take wild naivete to believe Urban Outfitters' apologies anymore.Mocking innocent deaths? Trivializing cultural heritage? Triggering the deadliest psychiatric illness? Mere child's play compared to Urban Outfitters' true target: the Jewish community.

In the wake of yet another offensive product, we have to wonder if the powers that be at Urban Outfitters are just straight-up, unabashedly anti-Semitic. Time and time again, the design team has made "artistic" nods to the Holocaust while trafficking in offensive Jewish stereotypes. It's not enough for us to shrug it off and say, "Well, that's just Urban Outfitters!" Given the company's accumulation of "mistakes," it's time for consumers to stop buying into their weak apologies . . . and stop buying their products, period.Let's explore the company's anti-Semitic products. Because indeed, there are enough for an entire list.

A New Yorker State of Mind

I am a long-time subscriber to The New Yorker. Looong-time. In its pages I read Annie Proulx’s “Brokeback Mountain” long before it became a film; Woody Allen’s “The Kugelmass Episode,” a hilarious take on Madame Bovary; John McPhee’s articles on Man vs. Geology; Calvin Trillin’s explorations into small towns and big food. Each issue seemed to contain bits of greatness from great writers. John Updike! Roger Angell! Pauline Kael! Although, I was not yet a subscriber for John Hersey’s “Hiroshima” or Rachel Carson’s serialization of Silent Spring (I’m just old, not ancient).

The New Yorker and I have been through several address changes, a name change (mine), the awkward Tina Brown years, and the difficulties of a long-distance relationship, when I would have to wait a month or more for each issue to arrive on North Caicos Island. I remember certain cartoons and covers the way most people attach memories to movies and pop songs. I am loyal, and I know I’m not alone.

Not only is it more than just another magazine, The New Yorker also sits apart from all the other special media that tend to capture loyal audiences today. It’s an experience more private than an “it” TV show like “Breaking Bad” or “House of Cards”; more current events-based than any popular series of novels; more considered than tweets, memes and listicles; more accessible than fine art or literary journals.

The New Yorker isn’t beyond criticism and jokes, and it’s always a good target for some inscrutable cartoons, unstructured fiction, political boldness and provincialism. Cover art alone could form someone’s graduate thesis. Was Barry Blitt’s “fist bump” cover (Titled “The Politics of Fear”) satire or racist? Is Saul Steinberg’s “View of the World from 9th Avenue” self-irony or a New Yorker statement? Could the black-on-black post-911 cover by Art Spiegelman and Francoise Mouly have been more perfect?

Within its pages I always find something compelling in my New Yorker, whether it’s a non-fiction piece that sparks my interest in an unlikely subject, a short story that haunts, or a “casual” that I wish I’d written. The essence, for me, is that The New Yorker always tells a good story.

Harold Ross didn’t start The New Yorker in 1925 to be the significant cultural commentary that it has become. He just wanted to make some money with a light magazine that caught the tenor of the times. But he and those who followed him (except maybe Tina) were sticklers for language, facts and storytelling. The rest is the magazine’s history.

Thus it offers a lesson both for writers and for anyone trying to live a creative life: Don’t try to be significant. Try to be true, to be entertaining, and to tell a story. The significance will happen.

One Path Forward

Everyone told us to stick in large groups, don’t talk to strangers, and avoid sketchy places.It was the first time they I traveling without my parents, and excitement bubbled over the top as I boarded the plane to Europe with my classmates and teachers. My new black suitcase dragged along nicely behind me. The trip would take us all across northern Italy and France, and my excitement was hardly containable.Italy was gorgeous, completely perfect in every way. The grass seemed greener, the flowers brighter, the air sweeter. Our introduction to France was just as glorious. Late nights with my friends out on the streets of foreign countries were amazing. We took so many selfies and silly tourist pictures. I had imagined Nice would be the same, and well, nice. It was. The city was gorgeous as we drove down a mountain from Monaco and on streets along the sapphire ocean. There is a main road through Nice, an above ground trolley lane for riding across the city. It ended at this huge open courtyard with tall pillars to the clouds with winged people perched upon them. If you kept walking past the courtyard there was a grassy area that sloped onto the beach. In this stretch of grass, though, was a double decker carousel.My good friend Lisi and I peered out the big charter bus windows and the kids “oohed” as we passed by.“We’re going there later.” Lisi commented, her eyes brimming with excitement.“Definitely.” I agreed.

So naturally, controversy involving the rebel flag and anything to do with Confederate culture always keeps my attention. What I have witnessed on social media illustrates we are still very much divided. To a portion of America, the answer is obvious: the flag should be removed because of its painful past. To the other, the answer is obvious: its heritage, not hate. In both answers we find truth: The Civil War has not ended. It still continues in debates and hateful language against Americans of every region.

Artist Shannon Chrisman of Aywen Creations Speaks

If you were to sit down in Shannon Chrisman’s work-space, you’d find the table covered with amethysts, garnets, labradorite, cat’s eye beads (maybe an actual cat as well), and other precious gemstones. They’re all anxiously awaiting to become anything from earrings to a true statement necklace (come on, what’s a bigger statement than a copper lion with champagne cubic zirconia eyes?). Previously known as Crayons to Canvas, Aywen Creations officially opened in 2014 after Chrisman decided to move from her melted crayon art to professional jewelry. Drawn from fantasy and mythology, Aywen Creations’ Etsy page offers everything from everyday wear to custom engagement and wedding bands.

Commentary On The "Edgy Bisexual"

Let’s get one thing straight: I’m the worst kind of bisexual. I’ve had long-term, serious relationships with men, and yet I still claim the sacred space of LGBTQ. I’m not out to my parents because it’s easier to pass. My sexuality is, moreover, hella confusing. Some months I’m into boys. Other months I’m into girls. I once planned a boy-girl-girl threesome with a male friend, and thereby rose through the ranks of mere mortals into the upper echelons of cool girl status. Another time, I broke up with a woman because I found greater chemistry with our mutual male friend. I’m not attracted to every pair of breasts, and I’ve met vaginas that I didn’t like.

A Shell of the Man that I Used to Be

He began to cry. I had seen him cry several times, but this cry was transported from an alternate dimension, I was sure of it. I asked him why he was crying, and he didn't hold back: "Because I'm dying." It didn't seem like an answer that a father would give. It didn't seem like an answer a man his age would give. It seemed like a child's answer: confused, timid, uncertain, and most of all, it was a conviction that lacked any conscience. Could this be a rehearsal for another movie? I just didn't want to believe it was real. It's easy to be cynical about a holiday like Father's Day, amid all the corporate merchandising and the outrageously prolific power tool sales. And do all fathers deserve a brand new tie? It's no secret that some men don't deserve to be called a father. I have learned over the years that my perceptions of the people in my life are ever-changing, and that most friendships are covered in a thin veil of superficiality. At the drop of a hat, a friend can become so unfriendly. Man, sorta makes me wonder what the point is. The phrase "with friends like these" has become so poignant.

For years I stepped away from my father. I didn't appreciate the time we had together. I thought he was a boring man with a boring life. Sometimes I took my own self-loathing out on him. Sometimes I thought he was a bully. I didn't realize that I had been brainwashed. I had been brainwashed by media, culture, and my own emotional maturity as a teenager to think that I needed anything more than the father I had.